


Zugzwang

by Begone



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: A generous helping of headcanon, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Dildos, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oviposition, Partial Transformation, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, also known as "the usual", mutual bitching and attempts to one up each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Begone/pseuds/Begone
Summary: A treatise on the only day Nabriales called out "sick" to work
Relationships: Lahabrea/Nabriales (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 42





	Zugzwang

**Author's Note:**

> .

He wouldn’t consider himself an artist, _per se_. That would imply he had a _talent_ for this unique act of creation in two dimensions. Which, in his opinion, he did not. This was just a tool, nowhere near as elegant as those who could preserve a scene in pencil or paint. Especially since _his_ subject matter was...

Certainly not something _Nabriales_ of the _Convocation of Fourteen_ would be caught with.

But damn him, he _liked_ it.

It initially started as a time sink. Entry-level work was _boring_ , and Nabriales-to-be still unsure of what he wanted to do in life. Which, naturally, led to him sitting around with more free time than sense whenever he was in between apprenticeships. And so, the confluence of a young Amaurotine, several bottles of lubricant, and just enough free time created a hobby for... designing _sex toys_. 

His first _prototypes_ , so to speak, put to pencil before being put to aether (and then put to _other places_ ), were by no means masterpieces. A helpful diagram of what he wanted to pull into existence, at first crude and then more elaborate as he grew. Naturally, a number of his close friends soon discovered his, for lack of a better term, _talents_ , and badgered him for commissions. And then they told their friends, who became interested...

The next few years were _very_ satisfying, to say the least.

It was with some measure of quiet thanks that he found his true calling, one that eventually led him to his appointment as Nabriales. And he held even more thanks for how easily he could fade into anonymity within Amaurotine society, for having certain former _clientele_ crowing about how high the ‘ _cocksmith of Amaurot_ ’ rose...

He’d _kill_. He really would. To have his reputation _tainted_ like that for what he did when he was much younger (and much hornier). 

But Nabriales-of-yore was crafty. Once he found his passion, he slowly started to distance himself from the _admirants_ his hobby collected. First, he put a moratorium on orders, then finished what orders he had accepted, slowly ceased to respond to fan mail and correspondence, never spoke about the rumors that he was quitting. A slow dance of death over the course of a year, gaining experience in his new rising interest.

And once he achieved a steady fall from popularity, he started the more drastic changes. He changed his place of dwelling, his name, and even his _mask_. All to coincide with gaining a proper job after his internship. Granted, his supervisor and a few coworkers bore witness, but the important thing to note is _they_ didn’t know of his previous _occupation_. He had banked on them simply nodding and accepting his changes, which was _exactly_ the case. As far as anyone knew, who he _was_ and who he _is_ were two different men now.

In his opinion, it was a perfect act of duplicity. Oh, if they _only_ knew _why_ he pulled these modifications. If he wasn’t so interested in this specific field, he might as well aim to become _Elidibus_ with how masterfully he pulled this off. He truly _was_ the greatest.

(Coincidentally his first action when he received the Convocation-only skeleton key to the Capitol was to go digging in the personnel files. Predictably, Elidibus’ file was heavily redacted with black lines, but had some tidbits of information to placate Nabriales’ mind and disappoint with how mundane the diplomat was. The rest of the Convocation were predictably less exciting, containing their life history with nothing redacted. His own, hilariously, acknowledged his previous name, with ‘unknown cause’ for change. No mention of his unsavory habits. _Excellent_. _Beyond_ excellent. He fooled the _spymaster_ himself.)

( _Altima’s_ files, however... The man had _pages_ of black lines, unnerving Nabriales enough to put the files back in order and skulk back to his lunch break, hoping to forget what he witnessed.)

But when push came to shove, even after centuries of his _far_ less lascivious career, Nabriales still doggedly pursued his hobby to work on. _Alone_. Even his appointment to the Convocation couldn’t shake his habits, despite how the job commanded the majority of his time. _Sculptural_ _art_ was a fine way to pass the time and unwind, especially when this particular _talent_ doubled as an excellent form of _stress relief_. Sketching clerks, aids, and other personnel that passed was good practice at first, when his fingers _itched_ with something to do. But it was a poor substitute for his greater skills.

All this preamble to explain why Nabriales was sequestered in an unused meeting room, sketching _dildos_.

Granted, with this term’s Emet-Selch and Lahabrea wreaking havoc, Nabriales was actively courting disaster. Both men seemed to take _personal pleasure_ in acting as unprofessional as possible, seemingly treating their title less as a leadership role and more as an expression of power and popularity. And _worst_ _of all_ , Nabriales knew both of them were _capable_ of being leaders, and have shown themselves as such. Lahabrea was a lauded, loved professor at the top of his field; Emet-Selch known for his expert management and brilliant designs that decorated the cityspace. 

And _both_ he previously told off for public indecency, which meant those two would _pay_ to essentially catch Nabriales not practicing what he preached. Hells, by the end of lunch those two could feasibly let the _entire Capitol_ know his _hobbies_. That would not do. He would not publicize the skeletons in his closet, as much as his coworkers wished to dance with them.

Drawing under duress, however, was an utterly _miserable_ experience. He couldn’t even draw a single line without looking up and confirming the room was empty. He was afraid to sketch something with the vaguest insinuation of sexuality. How _dare_ those two terrorize his mind even now, when they likely were content and eating their meals somewhere else in the Capitol. Unknowingly complicit in his frustrations.

As much as it pained him, he needed to forget rude co-workers that would likely barge into empty rooms existed. 

Nabriales dug his thumbs into his eyes, cradled his head and let go of a breath he held for far too long. He had the vaguest idea last evening, as exhaustion hit him in bed, an idea that he successfully managed to keep in his mind, waiting for the chance to develop. _Now_ was that time, like it or not. He’d force his hand if he had to. The first few sketches are rough, Nabriales still nervous and not wholly focused on the subject matter just yet, but it grows easier with each swipe of his arm.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of his pencil on papers. He is perfectly _alone_.

“What in the underworld is that?” Lahabrea proves it is not.

Lahabrea stares down at him, cup of hot chocolate in his hands, leaning closer to make out the designs scrawled on the parchment. Nabriales slaps a hand over the more… naughty areas, blood immediately rushing to burn his face and ears.

“Nothing for - nothing for prying eyes, Lahabrea. Can’t you _read a room_?” It’s sweltering under his mask, he’s talking far too fast, mind reeling in the surge of cortisol this brought. It hadn’t even been _ten minutes_. Ten minutes and the _worst case scenario_ was underway.

Lahabrea purses his lips and looks over his shoulder, at the empty meeting room Nabriales had sequestered himself in. The silence in itself is an answer, and Lahabrea had always been one to pry. The pinpricks of heat at Nabriales’ forehead only make him panic further, hand lifting off the paper, clawed fingertips digging in, prepared to snatch.

“... Leave me to design, Lahabrea. For Amaurot’s sake, learn some _tact_.”

“Mmm, no,” The drawl in Lahabrea’s voice is enough to send someone into a rage, “Besides, I’ve become interested, Nabriales. I _like_ what I see.”

Nabriales jerks his arms an inch off the table, flinching as raw anger freezes into pure surprise. His fingers shake as they hover over his art, eyes going wide behind his mask. Interest was not what Nabriales expected. _Interest_ was the last thing he wanted. Especially from this particular loose-lipped-

Lahabrea slurps on his cocoa, leaning ever closer, all too eager to remind Nabriales he was truly real and not one of the theoretical entities he so enjoyed studying. The sound grates against Nabriales’ ears for a few long seconds, Lahabrea’s cocoa seemingly bottomless and Nabriales’ patience slipping away in shock. 

The artist finally lets loose a defeated sigh, thumping his hands onto the desk. Lahabrea makes a surprised inhale (and a cough as his drink chokes him) when the papers are delicately pushed towards him.

“Oh yes,” Lahabrea’s hiss is part triumph and part something more salacious. His cup jerks from his lips as he snatches the paper into his claws, coming perilously close to spilling as he slams it onto the table. He puts the sketches to his face, studying it like a formal document, only making Nabriales scowl as the attention burns him.

Lahabrea easily twirls and hops to sit on the table, as if one insult wasn’t _enough_. His back is inches away from Nabriales’ face, the seconds passing like hours. He knew what was on the paper, but did Lahabrea know as well...? Granted, the _shape_ was a dead giveaway, but... well, Nabriales _used_ to be known for his active imagination. Simple dildos did not do for him anymore. He wouldn’t have had _a name_ for himself if he stayed with just _simple_. There’s a thoughtful hum from Lahabrea as he blindly gropes for his cocoa. Nabriales twitches his fingers, pushes the glass towards the grasping hand. There’s a long, low, slurp of cocoa. 

Nabriales knows the member in question is large, with a pointed end with a slit that was positively gaping and leaking clear fluid, shaft finely textured and large. Though, that’s without the gimmick, with it… 

Lahabrea gives an appreciative hum as he taps the diagrams of how the unusual thing pushed eggs out, the shaft bulging with the payload. To say Nabriales is _nervous_ to see Lahabrea so stoic at a concept that makes him cum so hard his vision whites out is an understatement. The man literally had his deepest, darkest desires on view right now.

Lahabrea slides off the desk, eyes glued to the paper as he turns around. He places his cocoa down first, then the paper, tapping at a specific sketch that makes Nabriales sit up straighter. In hindsight, drawing how the thing expelled eggs in lurid detail may have been a mistake. The other man’s claws tap and then curl towards the palm as he leans more heavily forwards.

“I could make time in my schedule if you ever are in need of a _quality assurance_ consultation,” The tone of voice implied any previous arrangements were tossed out the window, all with a grin and the cadence befitting of an orator.

“You’re... you’re overstepping bounds, _Lahabrea_ ,” Nabriales pulls himself together to at least be performatively admonishing. But he was frozen, shocked that this exchange was even happening. After so long, someone’s attention was such a siren song.

“I could say the same.”

“You didn’t have to enter an empty room.”

“And leave a co-worker of mine to be alone for his lunch break?” Lahabrea jerks back, a hand over his heart, “I am not that cruel.”

 _Perhaps he should be_ , Nabriales’ mental jab never made it any further than that.

“Besides, Nabriales, this looks vaguely familiar...” _Oh no_.

“See, this was before my time, but there used to be an _exceptionally_ talented artist that specialized in concepts similar to this,” Nabriales froze as Lahabrea’s unique brand of oversharing kicked in, “... _particular_ one. Your style reminds me of him, though by comparison you’re quite a hidden gem... I'd dare say you’ve surpassed.”

This situation was beyond absurd to begin with, let alone the implications that his past was coming to collect its dues. Lahabrea sounded like a secondary consumer at the very least, and he could thank every lucky star for that. Nabriales was liable to die if it ended with Lahabrea being a former customer, of all things. Trying to skillfully dodge Lahabrea’s questioning while bogged in a swamp of awkwardness would be its own unique hell-

_Wait._

Lahabrea asked for _quality assurance_. Implying a _physical_ product. Which was not evident from simply a pile of dirty pictures. Which implied Lahabrea recognized his current style as suspiciously similar to the old. How could he compare? Which made Nabriales remember he had, on occasion, sent concept sheets to clients. Exactly _h_ _ow much_ Lahabrea knew was the elephant crushing Nabriales’ brain. Had he underestimated the man?

“Well, I’ve never done commissioned work, let alone made my drawings a reality...” The slightly higher pitch made Nabriales internally berate himself.

If anything, his answer only makes Lahabrea tilt his head. No other reaction, “Oh I’m sure _you_ would succeed; art is but the physical manifestation of the selfsame creativity utilized in creation magic. I’d surmise you’re _more_ than capable.”

Deny and tacitly suggest incompetence. Agree and railroad himself into sinking further into a pit of depravity that included _Lahabrea_. And to add insult to insult, that same wording was used to encourage children.

Nabriales would rather be accused a lech than accused incompetent.

“So you want me to give you a concept crystal with... the contents of my sketch made true?”

“Yes, that’s obvious.” Lahabrea took a swig of cold cocoa, scowling and remedying the situation with a subtle flicker of fire magic.

“And you’d want the address to my dwelling, I take it.”

“Oh no, just leave it on a bench, I’m sure that would go over well,” The biting sarcasm is almost delivered in the same drawl Emet-Selch uses, eliciting a palpable flare of anger enough to make Lahabrea flinch.

“If you intend to indoctrinate me into that triad you have with-”

“Oh no, not at all! Ah...” Lahabrea on the defensive is a relief, “See, you and Elidibus are both very...”

“Possessed of morals?” Nabriales suggests.

“If that’s what you wish to call it. That being said, this is a pleasant surprise! After all we’ve been through, I thought we wouldn’t _get along_.”

Nabriales bites his tongue before he admits they would never truly do that. Who knows what Lahabrea was plotting, with his words drenched in saccharine charm and dusted with goads. He wanted his apartment address, surely. If Nabriales gave in, he’d have a visitor. If he continued to verbally spar with Lahabrea, the man would undoubtedly try to catch him in all sorts of admissions. The former option at least made sure Lahabrea would keep his trap shut, leaving Nabriales time to plan on how to keep that silence _permanent_.

(And maybe put him in his place just a tiny bit)

Steeling himself, Nabriales muttered his address, making Lahabrea flinch in sheer excitement, grinning wide enough to make Nabriales feel irritation sandpapering the back of his brain. The other man launched himself for the door, turning in the frame to open his mouth _again_.

“Right! I’ll be over an hour after work ends, Nabriales. See you then!”

And Lahabrea just _had_ to make his voice loud enough that everyone in the hall could hear him. As soon as the man was fully out the door and a few seconds out of sight, Nabriales slammed his fist into the table hard enough that the sharp ache mitigated his virulent furor. He let fury burn under his mask, until he eventually needed to compose himself to do his damned job.

  
  


Murder, unfortunately, was the first to be discarded on his list of solutions to the Lahabrea situation. With that loud announcement, Nabriales would be among the first questioned about Lahabrea’s disappearance. More doable was sending the sketches that started this all up into flame and ash. At the very least that wouldn’t bite him in the ass _ever_ _again_.

With his sketch sent into a swirling cloud of embers, Nabriales could stalk out of the meeting room, glaring at a passing administrative clerk with enough ill-placed ire that the poor dear dropped their papers in fear. The interaction, unfortunate as it was, shocks Nabriales back into normalcy, laying profuse apologies to the poor Amaurotine and helping them reorder the papers they were carrying. It at least smooths the pure vitriol in his aether, lets him be more presentable to the public, even if it gave some hapless worker a shock.

—————————————————————

One hour was _not_ enough time to clean his apartment.

Having Lahabrea announce such a short time and then cavort off to spirits-know-where was ludicrous. But what was he to do? Run after him and make their meeting all the more obvious? Everything about that man existed to chiefly _vex_ him. If he _ever_ had to act as subordinate to him, Nabriales was likely consigned to the deepest pits of hell.

On task, however, the dusting and general cleanliness of his home was, to begin with, at acceptable levels. What sorely needed to be _meticulously_ canvassed was anything that could be used against him. Perhaps a few of his more innocent hobbies could stay, displayed where they were, while his sketches were safely locked away in his bedroom desk, where they should be and _Lahabrea not._ The desk was built with a hidden drawer, his coworker couldn’t find the key if he tried.

The concept crystal that was promised? On the table, promise left unfulfilled. He could conceptualize the damned thing in a few minutes, a far lesser task than Lahabrea-proofing his home. Was the cactus Halmarult gifted him too phallic? As he pondered that question, the doorbell nearly made him drop his prized plant to the floor. Steeling himself, Nabriales placed it back on the shelf, adjusted a picture frame next to it, and consigned himself to the next few hours of _Lahabrea_ as he buzzed the pest into the apartment block.

Not even three minutes later, someone was attempting to knock his door off its hinges. Fortunately, that was enough time to put Lahabrea’s _gift_ to crystal. How the man managed to get up seven flights of stairs in such a short time period (absolutely no way the elevator was that quick) was beyond him. 

(And he never suspected Lahabrea to be the athletic type)

Breaking and entering was a foreign concept to Amaurotines. Having a chain latch on the inside of the door was therefore unheard of. And as a result, Lahabrea managed to squeeze his way into Nabriales’ apartment with a surprising amount of force. Even when the occupant had his weight thrown against the door. The new arrival took quick stock of Nabriales’ minimalist furniture and bone-white walls.

“Somehow I expected this, yet I am still disappointed,” Lahabrea dusted him robes off, acting as if he wasn’t almost squashed in a door jamb. 

Nabriales merely cursed his misfortune under his breath, houseguest going on to eagerly inspect every square foot. _Predictable_.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d suspect you have absolutely no hob- oh! Are those Trials of Acherousios figures? That’s a whole agema- did you hand paint them?” Upon spotting the glass case said figures were in, Lahabrea immediately made a beeline, a child in a candy store, looking back at him simply expecting more information.

“Yes,” If only he had the time, painting was a relaxing hobby, “But I don’t play any-”

“Oh? I’ve always wondered who would actually run this type of build-”

“ _Lahabrea_.” And Nabriales’ corona radiated annoyance.

The other man jerks up, turning to look, surprised, at Nabriales. To get the wretch’s attention on something relevant, Nabriales gestures to the table, head following Lahabrea as he darts over to pick up the concept crystal resting there.

“Ah, almost forgot...” And Nabriales could see the man getting ready to undo the bindings.

“Drop it!” Which succeeds, Lahabrea leveling a confused, yet annoyed, look.

“I thought I was here to _test_ it. Cease being so contradictory.”

Nabriales’ ears started to burn. Under no circumstances did he wish to imagine Lahabrea with his robes off, yet _here he was_.

“Perhaps realize that not every coworker of yours is _eager_ to be in your pants,” Nabriales stalked forwards, trying to utilize the inch or so his hair gave him over the other, or at least back Lahabrea closer to the door.

If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to _literally_ throw Lahabrea out.

Lahabrea, in turn, looks scandalized, nose scrunching up and teeth baring, “You can watch. I thought we could get along-”

“That could happen _without_ _sex_ ,” It felt vile to even contemplate being somewhat friendly with this fiend, let alone watch him pleasure himself, but when one was faced with the lesser of two evils...

“And if sex was not your intention, why give me a _purposefully_ unfinished concept?” To point, Lahabrea plucked the crystal off the table, gesturing for Nabriales to take it.

“What?” Nabriales was caught off-guard. He didn't dare to take his creation, not yet.

“This is _inert_ , no mechanism for what you so _meticulously_ detailed yesterday.”

Nabriales’ blood ran cold, eyes widening behind his mask, posture stiffening. Putting his mind into autopilot was perhaps the worst idea. With three minutes to spare, it seems he made the blasted thing to his normal standards, despite the _glaring_ , most _obvious_ feature being the fact it...

The irritation quickly drained from Lahabrea, though, replaced by a loose stance and a smirk that made Nabriales uneasy. “Then, _did you_ intend for me to shapeshift with it?”

Nabriales took a step back, Lahabrea took a step forward. Surely Lahabrea wanted him to admit to the mistake, didn’t he? To prove the great Nabriales left something half-complete, to drain the pride out of his body with admission. His back met the wall, Lahabrea sidling up far too close for polite distance. He could feel the warm edges of the other man’s aether, burning with curiosity and dark promise. Nabriales wouldn’t meet that challenge with his own aether just yet- he didn’t have the time to try and mask the surprise and turmoil roaring within him.

“Well?” Lahabrea cuts the silence, voice dropping to a soft whisper.

“I- I may have wished to use it instead,” Since that implied perhaps he wanted to use it _on Lahabrea_ , Nabriales quickly spat an addition, ”It’s functional! I simply need to make sure it’s... to my standards.”

The mental image that spawned, of Nabriales himself rubbing one out on his bed, the resulting aftermath and minutes-long afterglow as his cock bulged around an egg-

“I never expected you to be so kinky,” Nabriales flinches as Lahabrea abruptly pokes shut his mind’s eye, “Having me use something you got to first.”

“Abs-absolutely not!” Nabriales’ voice is a terrified screech, “Three minutes is not enough time to make two copies, let alone test one!”

Lahabrea freezes, slow confusion setting in, “You had an hour, though?”

“An hour is not enough to clean a home and jerk myself off!” Nabriales’ screech would rival nails on a chalkboard, “Did you _expect me_ to not clean?”

By the blank look on Lahabrea’s face, the answer was yes.

“What sort of _filth_ do you live in?!” He _finally_ had the edge. He finally got to get in Lahabrea’s face, make _him_ take a few steps back, stalk him further towards the door. Oh, how satisfying.

Lahabrea’s surprise morphed into annoyance, then into fury. He planted a foot down, Nabriales bumping into him, chest-to-chest. “I don’t know what kind of game you play,” Lahabrea hissed back, “But either you’re playing hard to get or refuse to admit you half-assed this.”

Hard to get? _He_ was _playing_ _hard to get_? Oh, he'd show him hard to get.

“I _did not_. And I am not hard to get!” Nabriales shot back without truly thinking about what he said, hissing under his breath a moment later, dashing whatever plans he had hoped to form.

However, Lahabrea graciously didn’t rise to the bait, “Then, like I suggested earlier, what if we instead test it _together?_ ”

Nabriales’ silence as he considers the pros and cons of bruising his pride or his ass is just more reason for Lahabrea to open his mouth again.

“Someone ill-versed in phantomology could make a very convincing transformation, yet it wouldn’t mesh effortlessly with their biology. _But I can_ ,” The last was given in a triumphant sing-song.

He did have a point, damn him. He heard of transformative uses for his creations, but a common complaint for the transformant was how sensitivity and reaction suffered as a result.

Or Lahabrea was pulling this out of his ass.

“You’re in expert hands, though do appreciate I am sticking my neck out for you. This is all theoretical, of course, but I am quite sure everything will go according to my calculations. Merging my corpus with a creation instead of merely copying the design... and even altering my organs, no less. I might get frozen with that state as my new normal, Nabriales.”

That, unwillingly, made Nabriales flush. Lahabrea was downright _eager_ to potentially permanently change himself, all in effort for Nabriales’ enjoyment. To his disdain, the back of his mind was slowly eroding away his distaste for the man, ‘ _just this once_ ’ being all the excuse needed.

“How devoted,” Nabriales’ voice was hollow, eyes unfocused on something just past Lahabrea’s shoulder.

“Think of it as a display of apology for last week's commotion. And perhaps reward for helping me get off the ground. Truly thought I had broken my back falling off that table...”

The last thing he wanted to remember was that entire travesty of an interaction. Somehow his opinion on his fellow Convocation members took a nosedive after that incident. Lahabrea raised his hands innocently the moment Nabriales grit his teeth at the memory.

Well, time to make his bed and sleep in it.

—————————————————————

Lahabrea shoves past the moment the bedroom door unlocks, immediately drawn to the desk. It took Nabriales a moment to notice him, still utterly floored by the absurdity of this situation. 

His hand slaps against a particular locked drawer Lahabrea was about to open, leveling a terse glare at the other man.

“I’m curious!” As if that is an _excuse_.

“Many people do not enjoy others digging through their _personal effects_.”

“What, it’s not like you have anything worse than dildos,” Lahabrea sniffs.

 _No, but you’ll recognize the style_. And Nabriales couldn’t have Lahabrea making that connection. And Nabriales had just the thing to redirect Lahabrea’s focus.

He held out the concept crystal. At least Lahabrea could take a hint, plucking the object out of his hand. With the man’s hands occupied, Nabriales could step back and start to undo his robes, pausing when he noticed Lahabrea was gawking at him.

A few seconds of mutual staring and Lahabrea conveniently remembers he has a job to do, jerking his head down at the crystal, wiggling in his seat, muttering under his breath. Nabriales ceased paying attention to him, field of view obscured as he pulled his robes over his head, but he could feel the warm breeze of aether as Lahabrea put his money where his mouth was.

What Nabriales didn’t expect: the noise.

He heard Lahabrea clunk his face onto the desk, making a breathy gasp, leather of his boots creaking. Blinded by the robes over his face, and now frozen in surprise, Nabriales listens, shifting from foot to foot. The other man’s teeth chatter, he groans through clenched teeth, muffled and so, so quiet. He makes a pained noise, but that deepens into a husky moan, chair creaking as Lahabrea’s weight shifts on it. He mutters a curse, a shuddering breath, and Nabriales finishes pulling his robes over his head, not wanting to admit it was in any way, shape, or form _arousing_.

(Especially when he was half hard from Lahabrea’s _efforts_.)

Keeping his eyes off of him, Nabriales keeps his eyes trained on the wall, teeth grit as he leans his arm on the backrest of his chair. “Could you possibly _not_ sound like you’re enjoying yourself?”

The reply comes after another half-hidden moan, “Get fucked.”

“I believe that’s your task tonight.”

Whatever Lahabrea’s retort was, it was swallowed in a breathy gasp, shuddering and hissing through his teeth, fist hitting the desk. He yelps when Nabriales so much as brushes his back with his neatly-folded robes, looking over his shoulder with a red-faced sneer.

Nabriales liked to keep his clothes on the back of his chair, what of it? Though, Lahabrea’s aether stills, hiccups when he registers Nabriales is wearing nothing. He had a clear view of the waist up. Nabriales scoffs, only making Lahabrea frown at him again before clunking his head back down.

Clearly the _advanced_ _application_ of creation magics he was misusing had some _intense_ side effects. This had dragged out long enough, but another interruption could possibly bring about an even longer wait, or even those permanent changes Lahabrea mentioned.

...Now that he thought of it, the concept by itself was _decadent_. Someone permanently merged with one of his concepts, marked indirectly by him, because they wished it so. It made the throbbing _need_ between his legs all the more worse.

Having someone on their back, one of his concepts sitting square between their loins, as he straddled them and wrapped his hand around a bulging-

“There, I’m done! Happy now?” Lahabrea always had perfect timing, perhaps a subconscious talent for fizzling lascivious thoughts.

The flow of aether in the room had stopped, so there was merit in his words. “Yes,” Nabriales spits, “Now undress, let me see if you actually did it or simply spent who knows how long aetherically masturbating yourself.”

Oh, the fury was evident. Nabriales struck a nerve, true and hard. Lahabrea nearly tipped the chair over with how violently he got up, hiking the hem of his robes up to reveal he _wasn't wearing anything at all_.

Nabriales gawks. Both at the sudden display of nudity _and_ the fact that Lahabrea was true to his word. Nabriales’ work is perfectly adapted to life, being brazenly pointed at by an incensed Lahabrea. The embellishment Lahabrea made is apparent, first to fit his skin tone, but it goes further than that. It’s larger than what he first designed, both in girth and length, the finer details made much more prominent.

And, judging by how the obscenely wide slit beaded precum, it had been affected by Lahabrea bringing it into existence.

“... Wait, why do you still have pants on?” As quick as it came, Lahabrea’s fury had dissolved, the man dropping his robes to tug at his sleeves, about to fluidly remove his robes.

“Why aren’t you wearing undergarments?”

“Why should I?”

Somehow, Lahabrea’s novel egg-ejaculating cock was the thing that _least_ floored Nabriales. Was he being taken for a ride? Did this man sincerely not bother with wearing pants to _work_?

“I am just... going to ignore that statement,” For his own sanity.

Lahabrea merely gives him a quizzical look, robes pooled around his arms, sliding off and hitting the ground with a soft noise. Nabriales, in turn, reaches under his mask to rub at his eyes, trying to mentally disconnect himself to whom he was about to _make love_ to.

(If he could even call it that)

“You do have to take your pants off, you know,” And just the way Lahabrea states it, in a matter-of-fact way, hand on his hip, that makes rational thought boil into anger for Nabriales.

These particular pants he had on were a mastercraft by an expert, made from a plant that had to be meticulously raised and difficult to extract the fibers from. But for how expensive and comfortable those tights were, anger won out as Nabriales hooked a finger under the waistband and he invoked a simple deconstruction spell.

His pants reduced to a few wisps of bright aether that quickly faded away. “Happy now? Then get on my bed, we’ve wasted enough time as is.”

Lahabrea stared at him a few moments, but skittered into action the moment an angry point directed him to where he was needed. “Bossy, bossy,” He murmured as he passed Nabriales.

For the sake of _this_ , he wasn’t going to comment on what he heard.

Lahabrea flopped onto his bed with all the grace befitting a sack of vegetables, stiffening and snuggling slightly into the comforter, lying flat on his back and no doubt enjoying the expensive mattress and sheets. With all the indifference he could muster, Nabriales crawled into bed with _Lahabrea_.

For the moment, he’d be content with straddling the other man, pinning his knees under him. Just stare at their combined efforts, staunchly ignoring the mask and, therefore, identity of who he was with. Running his thumb up along it, the texture was lifelike enough, with the living warmth his creations so often lacked when he used them. 

A sharp gasp broke Nabriales’ composure and he looked up, Lahabrea sucking a lip into his mouth, fists clenched into the covers. Now mere feet away, Nabriales could see sweat-matted strands of hair sticking to the sides of Lahabrea’s face, see a bead of sweat roll from under his mask.

“ _Please_ tell me this didn’t increase your sensitivity,” The disdain in his voice was evident and it made Lahabrea wiggle under him.

“I don’t _know_ yet, give it time,” Lahabrea’s voice was strained as Nabriales took him in hand, not even able to touch his fingers around the girth, “I just morphed my cock into this, of course it’s going to be a _little_ _sensitive_.”

Nabriales gave him a non-committed hum in return, not so gently turning his dick in his fingers, taking personal pride in making Lahabrea squeak and shudder breaths.

“At least get some lube,” Lahabrea splutters, immediately shoving a hand over his mouth to muffle anything further.

“I’ll bring it out when I find use for it,” Nabriales rolled his thumb up the length, making Lahabrea arch his back off the mattress, palm muffling his moan, “You could have just avoided this if you let _me_ be the test subject.”

If Lahabrea made noises like this just from being touched, imagine how much he’d scream with something stretching him out. What a missed opportunity...

“I’m not... an idiot!” Lahabrea hissed, uncovering his mouth and trying his hardest to avoid making an undue noise, cheeks flushing from strain, “You’d kill me if something went-- wrong!”

Nabriales pauses, looking Lahabrea straight in the mask, “Oh, I wouldn’t kill you.”

Lahabrea tilts his head, lips parted.

“I’d simply have you bend over for me, every night, and waddle into work the next day with a gut full of eggs,” Combined with a hard squeeze of his cock, Lahabrea howls and bucks into Nabriales’ hand, gasping for breath. Judging by the length straining in his palm and the chorus of moans, Lahabrea seemed partial to that scenario.

“And if this ends up permanent for you, consider it an upgrade free of charge,” He _hoped_ it wasn’t permanent. The finger would point to him eventually if it was, and he had enough attention drawn to him as-is.

This had dragged on overlong, however. Lahabrea’s noises were arousing enough, and Nabriales wasn't going to get something of that girth in him without an equally impressive amount of lube. He had the luxury of time, too, in case the sensitivity proved a detriment in his enjoyment.

Lahabrea was breathing heavily, unmoving when Nabriales swung off him, awkwardly perching on the side of the bed, friction the only thing keeping him from crashing to the floor. The bedside drawer had lube, the only issue was figuring out where he hid it. The last few weeks were stressful enough, barely enough time to rub one out before bed, let alone indulge in penetrative acts.

Lahabrea gently shifting on the bed doesn’t phase him. It wasn’t like he could cause mayhem spread-eagle on the bed.

A foot kicks him in the small of the back, _just enough_ to make Nabriales slide forwards and lose his perilous balance. He screams bloody murder, twisting as he tried to claw at the comforter in vain. Another scream, pained this time, wound its way out of Nabriales’ lips as his elbow hit an opened drawer.

Lahabrea, the fiend, the waste, the _anathema_ , had the audacity to _snicker_ at him.

Arm tingling from the hit, Nabriales surged up, turning a smirk into a shocked frown before Lahabrea gagged as he was grabbed by the throat and dragged onto the cold hardwood. The shock, at least, made him hiss, which was music to Nabriales’ ears.

The foot to his chest silenced any further undue noise, as well as the bottle of lube that hit Lahabrea squarely in the mask.

At least he knew when to stay quiet. Nabriales has to give himself a few seconds to massage his elbow, letting the lingering pain fade away before he roughly settles on Lahabrea’s lap.

He holds his hand out. Lahabrea hands the lube over.

Well what do you know, he _could_ follow commands without fucking something over in the process.

Lahabrea was watching him, head lifted off the floor, hands clasped together as Nabriales uncorked the bottle. He flinches when Nabriales tips it over, drizzling cold lube right onto that supposedly-sensitive cock of his. The rest is quickly coated on Nabriales’s fingers, wasting no time in reaching around to prepare himself.

Nabriales was focused on his work, but that doesn’t mean a soft gasp or content sigh couldn’t work its way out of his lips. Things of Lahabrea’s size were no issue for Nabriales, even if he had moved it up a size or two in creation. Yet, it had been weeks, so overlooking safety would be ludicrously irresponsible.

Unfortunately, with how Lahabrea was shifting below him, trying to sneak a hand onto his hard, barely-slicked cock, ludicrously irresponsible seemed the name of _his_ game. Nabriales quickly rapped the glass bottle on an offending wrist, so Lahabrea was justifiably apprehensive of making a repeat offense while Nabriales serviced himself.

His fingers felt obscenely slick inside of himself, all the lube making it hard for him to feel any sort of friction, but that wasn’t the point. Lahabrea, so easy to forget, was sneaking his free hand towards his hips. Nabriales faked a throaty moan, making the other man freeze and jerk his head up at him.

“Get up,” Nabriales withdrew his fingers so he could stand, wincing slightly at the wet noise it made. With his wrists safe, Lahabrea takes his time, until a quickly-raised foot, heel aimed at his crotch, proves incentive enough to scramble up.

“Against the wall,” And to his credit, Lahabrea listens, head darting between Nabriales’ face and crotch.

They were about the same height, which already was favorable for what Nabriales had in mind. Gently, he placed a clean palm onto Lahabrea’s shoulder, urging him to lean down against the wall.

He catches on to the plan quickly, hands immediately hovering near Nabriales’ hips. One of Nabriales’ knees comes to rest just above Lahabrea’s hip, lubed-up hand grasping at Lahabrea’s cock, finally giving it attention. He teases, letting Lahabrea whimper and bite his own lower lip, rub his head into the wall as his dick slides up against Nabriales’ balls and ass.

Teasing eventually loses its charm. Lahabrea gets more used to the rhythm, ceases to make all those delightful noises from before. He does, however, take a sharp breath when Nabriales tightens his hold, shifts slightly, guides the narrow tip to press into him.

The head is narrow, small, easy to penetrate him with, but the thickness dramatically increases one the first half inch slid into him, replacing the feeling of something _there_ with the unmistakable gentle burn of being _stretched_. Lahabrea’s teeth are grit, hands on Nabriales’ hips, fingernails biting into his skin, beads of sweat collecting as pinpricks. How cute, he’s trying so hard to not buck up into him, a polite and well trained _pet_.

With barely two inches in him and with a majority left to go, Nabriales releases his guiding hold, bracing his hands next to Lahabrea’s shoulders. “Can you hold my weight?” He asks, Lahabrea giving him a perfectly surprised look.

“Yes? Why-”

Nabriales hops, second knee smacking the wall, wincing as the sudden rise and fall nearly pops Lahabrea off him and just as quickly sinks him deeper onto him. To the other man’s credit, he _can_ hold Nabriales up, shifting to half-groping his ass.

“Go on, impress me,” Nabriales takes Lahabrea by the hair, tilting his head to the side, humming right into his ear.

There’s some shifting to be done for the first few, disjointed thrusts, both men adjusting their grips. Mostly Lahabrea keening at every minute motion, with Nabriales giving him none too pleased glares. Without a steady rhythm, the dull stretch was pervasive, and his efforts to set a pace himself was difficult with Lahabrea holding him up and being easily rocked by his hips. 

“I’m not used to this,” Lahabrea chokes out, gasping sharply as his hair is tugged again, bucking his hips and feeling Nabriales shift into the motion.

“Your peers in Anyder call you a quick study,” Nabriales’ voice is dry and delicately strained, “Yet all I get is a pretentious scholar that blames everything _but_ himself.”

The flare of rage creeps into the aether, dry heat pricking at Nabriales skin as he can almost hear Lahabrea gritting his teeth. He gets no comeback, only fingernails digging ever deeper into his thighs, Lahabrea _finally_ giving him the show of force sorely needed.

Finally Nabriales gets a taste of more than just a few half-inches of his creation, Lahabrea practically growling like some wild animal as he bucks into him. The friction burns deliciously in time with the massive girth slipping fluidly in him, bracing himself on the wall so he can move in time with Lahabrea’s hands.

It’s everything he asked for, Lahabrea’s breath huffing with every thrust mere inches from his ear, the awkward stretch gone as he adapted, replaced by a consummate fullness. The only thing missing is a hand on his neglected cock, but Nabriales wanted to last for this. The faint draw of heat from such a massive length skirting past his prostate is enjoyable enough, especially combined with the frenetic slap of hips on his ass.

If he was less aware, it would be all too easy to imagine it was some monstrous creature railing him instead of-

Lahabrea makes a low curse, arms quivering for a moment as he starts to slow. Nabriales tugs a lock of hair he twined around his finger earlier, getting a hiss of protest, “I’m close, you ass!”

Oh, _perfect_. Nabriales fixes a malevolent grin at the other man, “Then keep going,” He breathes, watching Lahabrea fix him with a look of horror.

The pace picks back up, Lahabrea’s look acidic, no doubt expecting to be yelled at once he releases all too soon. Nabriales ignores it, closes his eyes and _listens_. The dry, overbearing heat makes every bead of sweat on him apparent, dries the lube on their thighs into a sticky mess, makes his mouth dry with every gasp. It melds well with his own aether, stoic and slack, an aura that had crept up slowly since Lahabrea flared his hellfire.

Lahabrea is noisy, which is fantastically useful. His whines pitch up, bucks more shallow, gasps for air more desperate. Just as he takes a sharp breath, Nabriales strikes with a final fuck-you: his temporal magic.

It’s quick, easy, a localized freeze to a _particular_ organic process. Lahabrea stills, shocked for a moment, trying to come to terms with the fact Nabriales froze him just on the _edge_ _of orgasm_.

Of course, he could still move. That was the _point_. If he couldn’t last, Nabriales might as well _make_ him. And infuriate him in the process. All outcomes would benefit him, a majestic play that was topped with the euphoria of hearing Lahabrea’s scream of utter rage. 

He couldn’t help but laugh at his partner’s plight, nasal cackling pitching to sharp cry the moment he felt weightless. Lahabrea had shoved him back off him and onto the mattress, making Nabriales bounce once before lying, confused and stunned, legs hanging off the side. Whipping his head up, he wondered if perhaps this was a poor choice on his part for once, as Nabriales can not only see the rage radiating from Lahabrea, but the state of the poor man’s transformed dick.

It’s drooling heavily, engorged and ruddy with blood, yet unable to complete it’s sole duty due to a _spell_. Of course, Lahabrea can’t undo it, Nabriales can _feel_ him trying to esuna the malady, but the complexity is something unfamiliar and thus impossible to undo.

And curing himself was wasting time he could have himself buried in Nabriales. “You fucking _bastard_!” Lahabrea roughly grabs Nabriales’ leg, pulling his ass just above and to the edge of the bed, manhandling none too gently until he could place Nabriales’ knee over his shoulder. 

Only partially cowed, Nabriales hooks the other leg around Lahabrea’s neck, following his lead, only staring up at him with a smug grin.

“I was so close, too!”

“Oh boo hoo, woe is you. I can last for hours with _bigger_ toys, you’re nothing special for lasting just a bit longer than a virgin.”

A hand curls around Nabriales’ neck, throwing his head into the sheets and squeezing just too hard. Nabriales coughs, a hand flying to Lahabrea’s wrist, fingernails pinching deep. With a snarl, the other man lets up, other hand busy guiding his cock back into Nabriales.

“You’re fucking _gaping_ , I bet you won’t be able to keep the eggs in,” Lahabrea spits, trying to verbally strike at Nabriales when he had so firmly established himself on the high ground.

“Oh, I will,” Nabriales’ response is breathy as Lahabrea hilts into him with a rough thrust, “Do let me know how it- hhh- feels.”

Lahabrea clenches his jaw, adjusting his hand on Nabriales throat, other hand landing just above his shoulder. Their masks are mere inches apart, Lahabrea refusing to move, even after an encouraging wiggle.

“Idiot, I’ll release it when I _get what I_ _want_.” It was his spell, his rules, and Lahabrea was stuck with them.

Lahabrea’s silent ire prickles the air. He rolls his head, grunting in frustration, “Give me a hint.”

He knows how utterly annoying the feeling is, frozen on the edge. Like trying to chase a goalpost moving at the same speed, the adrenaline and excitement of being so close thrumming in one’s veins. But the only way to keep up that unique feeling was to keep stimulating himself, and Lahabrea was not privy to that fact.

“Remember: I wanted it, not you.”

There’s a snort from Lahabrea as he finally seems to put the pieces together, “It’s like I need to piss but there’s no-”

“You _dimwit_ , not that!”

“... You’re pretty tight-”

“Do you even _have_ a coherent thought left in you-”

“Well then, _how_ can I describe an orgasm if _you’re denying me!_ ”

Nabriales snorts in indignation, pressing Lahabrea’s head between his thighs. He gets a nip to one, pointedly knocking Lahabrea’s back with his heel hard enough to make him grunt.

“Well, guess.”

There’s a furious growl from Lahabrea as he finally gives up trying to argue, rolling his hips and sighing contentedly as he sets a slow, short thrusting pace.

The rage is still radiating off him in waves, tender tendrils of his personal aether staunchly refusing to even interact with Nabriales’ own, skittering away like a school of fish whenever he draws near.

This new position isn’t half bad, even if the heat is molten in Nabriales’ core. Sweat pools between their chests, barely an inch apart, Nabriales finally getting harsh friction on his cock as Lahabrea’s belly slides past it. It makes Nabriales whimper and twitch under Lahabrea, able to wholly focus on the sensation pulling on him in time to each thrust.

Short thrusts seem to bore Lahabrea after a moment; he fixes Nabriales with a pointed look as he pulls back further on each thrust, curls a lip up as he sharply smacks Nabriales’ ass with his hips with each one. One of Nabriales’ hands curls around himself, the coil of heat growing ever tighter, getting harder to ignore. His tip is slick, precum sliding off the side of his belly, enough to swipe with his thumb and roll up against his cock, clenching down with the motion.

Lahabrea takes a sharp inhale, frenetically thrusts into slick, tight heat. It’s wonderful with the fuzziness settling in his mind from the hand around his neck, Nabriales’ focus becoming much more loose. If Lahabrea noticed the slight loosening of the spell, he doesn’t mention it, only hiss under his breath.

The pads of Lahabrea’s fingers dig into his throat, not hard enough to bruise, but all the better to make Nabriales’ mind a foggy haze of sex and pleasure. The bonds loosen further, Nabriales giving him a low moan, digging his heels into Lahabrea’s back, thighs tightening as his hand on his cock speeds up.

Lahabrea just arches his back to give him more room, panting heavily as he thrusts barely a few inches into the other man, so close that the urge to hilt himself as deep as he could is slowly overtaking his mind. Releasing those binds is paramount, every thrust making Nabriales’ grip on them slacken, until the other man takes a sharp breath, aether relaxing as his body goes rigid, Lahabrea unable to even see anything as the spell ends and his vision goes blank.

Nabriales gasps for air, Lahabrea breathing heavily right by his ear, the side of the man’s face resting on his mask. He’s holding onto Nabriales’ hips for dear life, barely thrusting as his cock only makes Nabriales’ insides feel all the more slick. Blonde hair is pasted to his neck and covering Nabriales like a veil, his legs quivering delightfully from the position they’ve been held in for so long.

His afterglow isn’t going to be as long as Lahabrea’s, though. Nabriales jabs the man in the side, barely eliciting a reaction. “Hey,” He calls, softly, “Lahabrea?”

“Fuck,” The other man growls, biting his lip on the ‘f,’ “Shut the hell up, I still feel like I’m coming.”

Well, that was to be expected. Slowly, Lahabrea takes a deep breath, pulling back before freezing and bucking back into him, a squeak coming from his lips. _There we go_.

All sorts of cusses fall from Lahabrea’s mouth, his breath shaky as his fingernails dig uncomfortably into Nabriales’ ass, grinding into him. The man’s cock is jerking in him, soaking Nabriales thoroughly and probably staining the comforter with slick.

Nabriales has had all sorts of strange things in his rear. Monstrously thick lengths that needed weeks of preparation to try, tentacles, beaded lengths, knots. If he had to compare what an egg passing into him felt like, it was probably most similar to a knot, though if the thing _moved_. Entering him was the worst part, Lahabrea whimpering weakly as he strained to push the object past the only obstacle to entry Nabriales had. All the other man could do was try his best to relax as something a good inch thicker pressed into him, building up pressure as it failed to stretch the man far wide enough.

When it finally popped in, Nabriales yelped, the egg going from a strong pressure to knocking past his prostate and settling deep in his guts within a second. It surprised him enough to clench down on Lahabrea, making the other man yelp in return, lift his head and smack his mouth into Nabriales’.

It was an awkward kiss, Lahabrea biting down on his lip, his whines rattling Nabriales’ front teeth. There was an awkward weight in his belly now, a fullness that couldn’t be accurately described. He’d forgive Lahabrea’s taciturn orgasm, he guessed, seeing as they were both occupied by trying to smother the other in open-mouthed kisses.

Lahabrea pulled away, to his dismay, “Shit, I feel another one,” His voice was shaky, breath shuddering before he dipped back to licking across Nabriales’ teeth.

He appreciated the warning, at least. With that knowledge, he tried his best to relax again, lest he repeat the last time. And now that the first was over, he at least had something to expect. Lahabrea’s voice seemed a dead giveaway, and he could hear the man’s moans pitching an octave higher in his mouth. He didn’t curse this time, only attacked Nabriales mouth with more ferocity, practically smashing their faces together, making it harder to breathe.

The second enters him in less time than the first, and far less violently. It’s quick to join the other, making Nabriales curse as they slide against each other, an ache settling in his guts for just a moment. Two seems reasonable enough, and Lahabrea is shaking from exhaustion, body growing heavy on top of Nabriales. He gently tilts Lahabrea’s head to the side, letting them both catch a breath. Surely it’s _over_.

Blunt pressure at his ass is quick to disprove that assessment.

Lahabrea gives a gentle moan as a third egg exasperates stretched muscles, Nabriales writhing under the other man. There’s a pressure in his stomach from his position, three eggs now pressing into his organs, entering the territory of constant discomfort.

Fortunate and unfortunate is that Lahabrea is boneless, in a haze of what likely is pleasure and exhaustion. Trying to push him off is met with a feral growl and nails digging into Nabriales’ ass, so letting him spill on the sheets is probably a failed avenue.

A fourth egg makes Nabriales go from ‘slightly nervous’ to ‘light panic.’ His squirming is met with resistance, probably an unconscious response on Lahabrea’s part to keep himself hilted within the other man. Enough force, though, could make the half-conscious man hopefully see reason, but a lecherous part of Nabriales’ mind was curious to see just how many eggs he could get up himself.

He resisted that fourth egg, Lahabrea grumbling above him, shifting and grinding into him, a tilt back giving Nabriales just enough room to finally drop one of his legs from Lahabrea’s neck. It stung, muscles sore from being in a prolonged position, but he had one way out of this without crushing his organs and he was taking it, despite his body’s protests.

(And, he was far too disjointed to cast another time-pausing spell, and wouldn’t dare risk being burnt to a cinder if he could)

When he finally got his second leg free, there was some relief, the firm weight in his gut no longer too uncomfortable, shifting to accommodate a larger space. Lahabrea was growing even more restless, latching teeth into Nabriales’ neck, a steady pressure that slowly grew harder.

“Spirits, let go!” Nabriales hissed, pulling at the man’s hair, “Give me a second!”

Thankfully Lahabrea had enough brain left to listen, letting go of his neck. Nabriales could relax with that gone, the pressure on his rear had grown to an uncomfortable ache, finally relaxing made the damned thing cease being a bother to Lahabrea and become a new nuisance for Nabriales instead.

All that was left was to manhandle Lahabrea, pushing him away slightly, earning a few soft, confused mumbles. He’s so far gone and too much dead weight that Nabriales has to use a simple vigor spell just to find the strength to roll him over, so he now sat on top of the other man. Lahabrea, once his groggy mind was sure they had not parted, went back to putting his full attention into basking in his infuriatingly-long afterglow, though he at least found the sanity to stroke Nabriales’ hips with his thumbs.

Bastard.

The new position didn’t seem to affect his cock, either. Nabriales could feel another blasted egg pushing through, but he inadvertently delayed the proceedings by looking down, disdain transforming into abject shock.

Four was enough to bloat his stomach enough that he couldn’t see half of his flaccid cock, and with a fifth he needed to quit being so stiff for, he realized he could actually _see_ the damned thing enter him. With the angle his hips laid, the girth of the egg passing into him along with its cohort’s weight put a surprising amount of rolling pressure into his prostate. It was enough to wake a hunger in him, especially after seeing the bulge pass into the mass collecting within him.

Nabriales ran a hand up Lahabrea’s stomach, eliciting no reaction as he coated his palm in precum and semen. He made a low groan when he could finally touch himself, pressing his other hand against his belly, able to subtly shift and rub at the eggs in him.

When he felt _another_ egg, he decided to move his hand down, feel it going into him and jerk himself with every pulse Lahabrea’s cock made in him. It felt far too good, getting stretched in time to stoking the electric heat within his groin. Even if he came not long ago, he could feel himself getting shamefully close.

Whatever, the world could end and Lahabrea probably wouldn’t notice. He hadn’t even moved since Nabriales flipped him, and he doubted that would change.

He felt close, but try as he might with all the delightful pressure in his gut and on his cock, it was still much too early for him to come. A touch frustrating, but it would work in his favor in the end, letting him stoke this enticing heat for a while longer. Moving his hips up slightly barely elicited a reaction from Lahabrea, though with how stretched out six eggs made Nabriales, the motion wasn’t quite as enjoyable before. What was better, though, was feeling how the payload in his gut shifted and bore down on him as he rose and fell.

He almost didn’t notice a seventh egg. And he was wondering why he couldn’t sink down as far on Lahabrea, the object halfway up and Nabriales’ weight threatening to push it down. It did drag out a very humorous warble from Lahabrea’s throat, though. Jamming his thumb just above the egg, he could prevent it from getting further in him, let it press fully against his prostate, making Nabriales hiss curses between his lips as he hedonistically stroked himself.

Lahabrea had the final say, though, bucking into him enough to jerk his hand away and get rid of what impeded the egg’s progress. And that only made Nabriales look _gravid_ , unable to even see his length from the bulge in his stomach. When it finally registered, he ignored his aching, raw length just to stare. The only thing that managed to redirect his attention was realizing that Lahabrea’s cock was flagging. The ordeal was _finally_ over.

For a good moment, as he softened, Nabriales thought Lahabrea somehow managed to pass. He couldn’t feel the man’s aetherial halo, the haze of pleasure that had settled in it had ceased entirely some time ago, since he couldn’t even feel the vestiges of emotion left in the air. Great, how would he explain this? Death by bliss? Nabriales was about to seriously consider how to cover this up when he felt a gentle stir in the aether, an unmistakable mix of vague emotions.

Asleep. Of _course_.

Very, very carefully, Nabriales shifted back, ignoring the slick, wet noise that the man’s flaccid length made coming out of him. The dribble of liquid down his thighs, though, was much harder to miss.

Nabriales nearly fell when he tried to put weight on his legs, unable to take his weight. He was saved by his nightstand, letting him brace himself as his legs recovered and muscles quivered.

Well, his bed was _ruined_.

There was a large, dark stain around Lahabrea’s legs, along with an appallingly equally decently-sized puddle that soaked the rug under his bed and ran onto the hardwood, a few errant glittering trails running towards Nabriales’ legs. He’d have to get a new comforter, the down in it was probably permanently cemented together by fluids. Perhaps he could salvage the mattress. His rug... salvageable. Floorboards? If he cleaned it _now_ , then _maybe_ they wouldn’t warp.

He took one shaky step, thighs light and weak, stomach distended enough to obscure his vision. He couldn’t use the rug; he needed a dishrag, or even a towel. As much as he wanted to attend to himself, extensive property damage was an excellent mood killer.

When he managed to stagger into the hallway, it was abundantly clear he was going to feel this in the morning. He could barely walk straight, his muscles threatened to give out from under him, and _all those damned eggs were right on his prostate_. Walking was an uniquely terrible and cock-teasing experience, multiple eggs pressing down into him and shifting against each other with every step.

Just getting into his kitchen without coming, pissing, or doing both all over himself was a miracle. A frustrating, arousing miracle.

Nabriales had to brace himself on the counter, spitting a curse when he shifted his weight and sent a heady bolt up his spine. Curiosity and basal pleasure won out. He had to attend to himself _now_.

He didn’t even have to be quiet: Lahabrea was dead to the world after coming for probably a half hour and the walls of his apartment block were fortified with silencing spells. He could gasp, keen, and moan to his heart’s content, shifting his weight and almost doubling over as he stroked himself. He barely lasted a minute, soiling his cupboard drawers with a few beads of almost-clear cum.

If he was exhausted before, it truly hit him now. With that last hurrah, he could feel what was left of his strength fading, his mind growing duller by the second. All he wanted was to close his eyes for a moment, but he couldn’t just slump over and fall asleep in the middle of his kitchen. He managed to stumble backwards into his table, barely able to pull a chair back to collapse into. The last thing Nabriales could remember is closing his eyes and falling onto something hard.

  
  
  


Nabriales’ body woke up before his mind did. There was sunlight in his eyes (he normally slept with his curtains drawn), and an alarm hadn’t woken him (therefore, it had to be a day off, right?).

 _If only_ he was right.

His mind, sluggish for some odd reason, slowly called out the inaccuracies. He was _Nabriales_ , he was _expected_ to work every day unless he was incapacitated by illness or injury. His last day off was _eons_ ago. Not only that, but he wasn’t in his bed. He was hunched over, head nested in his crossed arms, body aching from sitting in such a way his gut pressed harshly against his-

Nabriales jerked his head up. 

**_Lahabrea_**.

Recalling the previous night was like getting repeatedly dropkicked to the floor. Lahabrea, dildos, flagrant misuse of phantomological theories, _eggs_. Each realization and increasingly lurid memory somehow managed to disquiet him _more_. He had to have accidentally ingested something hallucinogenic. It had to be the only explanation. He couldn’t have been seduced by _Lahabrea_ , out of _all_ his coworkers.

Judging by the dull, blunt pain settled in his gut and ass, _it was indeed true_. Nabriales stole a look down and immediately had to jerk his head up, focus on the table, find _something_ to distract himself from the _obscene_ abuse he conducted on his body in the name of thrills.

Just sensing something with Lahabrea’s aetherial signature was liable to make him see red and break the nearest piece of furniture. He glared daggers at a seemingly inconspicuous note, reeling himself in enough to avoid losing a table.

It had Lahabrea’s sigil on it, which radiated his faint presence. It was folded once, weighed down by a _particular_ concept crystal. He’ll get to the note later. Apprehensively, Nabriales put his palm on the crystal, sighing in relief that it was occupied and Lahabrea hadn’t been permanently scarred from their hijinks.

He was not going to _touch that note_. He had chores to do, a body to clean up, before he could allow his blood pressure to likely _skyrocket_.

It had to be late in the morning, and a glance at a clock to confirm he was _four hours_ late to work only made dread sink deeper into his body. He was going to have to _feign illness_ . The horror, his perfect attendance record! Gone, no longer a tie with Elidibus, all because _Lahabrea_ and _Nabriales’ own perverted libido_ decided last night was an _amazing_ time to do something _absolutely idiotic!_

And he had no clue how he was about to remove _seven_ eggs from his sore ass. That would _easily_ take him a full day of work. He needed to ignore that, focus on what was simpler to fix- like his bedroom.

Getting up was an exercise in pain tolerance. His legs protested. His back protested, everything below the _spirits-damned cluster of eggs in him_ protested. The fact he could walk at all could be considered a miracle enough to qualify him for beatification.

He practically knocked the door off its hinges to see if Lahabrea cleaned up after himself.

Thankfully, the _pest_ knew how.

The fluids that were on the floorboards were thankfully gone, his rug draped on the bed, a bathroom towel crowning the pile. Nabriales breathed a sigh of relief. One less thing that was possibly _ruined_.

His robes were safe on his chair, thought he doubted Lahabrea would be so juvenile as to mess with them. He did worry about his stash of drawings, as Lahabrea had attempted to open the drawer last night, if he could recall correctly.

A jerk of the handle and it was thankfully locked. But Nabriales wasn’t convinced _just yet_. Where did he hide that key... He did stow it away somewhere in another drawer, within a false panel. Upon opening the hidden compartment, the keys were where he left them. All he had to do was quickly check...

Another miracle, the sketch on top was what _he_ placed on top. The pencils were scattered from their usual order, unfortunately, but he could just chalk that up to the commotion yesterday. He’d be surprised if one of his paintings _wasn’t_ crooked, let alone have his supplies remain orderly.

Being in such close proximity to his shower, though, made him realize just how sticky and _reeking_ of old sweat and sex he was. He’d probably need another shower after he read that note.

At least his bathrobe hid the carnage of his abdomen from his eyes. He could feel those blasted eggs, but half of him was beginning to enjoy this more than the part that wanted to deal with _removal_. He’d “suffer” a while longer. Maybe even “suffer” in bed for a few hours. Oh the humanity.

Partially sitting on his table, Nabriales finally needed to address the _dreaded note_ :

_Xystos,_

_Are you well? I tripped and you barely stirred. Anyways, if you’re not dead, good. If you are, it was his idea anyways, Altima._

He fucking _loathed_ this blonde prick.

_I cleaned up a little, everything should be on the bed. Didn’t want to mess with whatever routine you have. So, I obviously left you to get some beauty sleep, I still can’t believe I did that to you. If we actually got time off I’d be so bold as to ask... want to go another round? It has been a while since I was in the company of celebrities._

_Before you strangle me, I actually have a plan. I’m going to say we went out for dinner and you got sick when we were going back. And being one of the brilliant paragons of our city’s tenets, I took care of you through the night. Anyways I can’t pull a restaurant name out of my ass this early in the morning, but I’ll just say whichever fancy one comes to mind. Just say thinking about it makes you queasy or whatever._

_Your secret’s safe with me!_

_“Lahabrea”_

_ps: Guess I was the one making you bend over for me and stuffing you full of eggs, huh. Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you waddle into work. ❤️_

The final line made him slap the note onto the table, grip the edge and get ready to just about reduce it to splinters, but his eyes reread to whom it was addressed to.

At once, Nabriales lets go of the table and staggers back.

Lahabrea knew his _name_.

Knowing his name-name was a simple task: everyone’s personnel files listed their true names. Nabriales was polite enough to not constantly use them. That Lahabrea also peeked at Elidibus’ files wasn’t the issue, he was that kind of nosy. No, Lahabrea knew something far worse than just his former alias:

 _He made the connection_.

There was no way- How could he have- He only heard of him through hearsay! He only signed his sketch pages!

 _He only signed his sketch pages_.

_The sketch pages he kept in his drawer_.

_Where the pencils were now suspiciously out of order_.

“That cocksucking waste of air!” Nabriales could hear his voice cracking as he bellowed, trying to raise a leg to dropkick a chair, but only succeeding in disturbing his center of gravity and almost falling over, letting him fume and rage in his living room, where there was far less hapless furniture to demolish.

He was going to threaten him with everything in the book. Murder, being eaten alive by dangerous concepts, acids, mutilation, whatever Gracchian torture methods he could tease out of Altima. ‘ _Your secret’s safe with me_ ’ better apply to _his fame_ as well, or else Lahabrea was a dead, _dead_ man.

Five eons. _Five eons_ he’d have to deal with this man until Convocation positions were electable again.

If only _something_ could make it end sooner.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Easter.
> 
> Minor edits: patched a plot hole, fixed formatting.


End file.
